Dark Sun
by Callay
Summary: UPDATED! A look at post-series events. What happens once Knives awakens? Ch. 2 reworked, and Ch. 3 added.
1. Awakenings

"Awakenings" "Awakenings"  
  
  
He awoke to the harsh midday light, blinded by its intensity. Blinking back the darkness hovering in his eyes, he waited paitiently for his sight to adjust. He seemed to be lying on something soft, likely a bed. Faintly, he could feel a slight breeze pass by from an open window.  
  
The silence was disquieting.  
  
Slowly, gradually, he could make out a faint outline seated before him. A figure, watching him; or more accurately, watching over him. The silhouette was tall, towering vaguely over his prone body. It sat perfectly still, never swaying nor moving, never louder than the sound of his own shallow breathing.  
  
He pulled his mouth into a thin smile. "Hello, brother," he uttered, his voice barely more than a dry croak. His lips were cracked and hardened, his mouth a desert wasteland.  
  
He felt something cold pass near his lips. Metallic. "Here," he could hear his brother's voice say. "Drink."  
  
Pure, cold water flowed down his throat, soothing it. He swallowed it greedily, barely tasting it as he drained the cup quickly. He tried to lift himself up when it was taken away, but found he could not, collapsing back on the bed as fire seemed to shoot through his body. Breathing heavily from the pain and exertion, he glared at his twin. "What--- what did you do to me?"  
  
Vash looked down at him sadly, his eyes regretful. "I...you've been wounded badly." He spoke quietly, but did not waver under his brother's gaze. "So I brought you here." He gestured at the small room around them.  
  
"Here," Knives repeated dully, not quite understanding. "Where is here?"  
  
Vash looked off to the side, out the window into the bright light. "Close by," he offered succinctly. "I couldn't afford to move you far." It was all he seemed willing to share at the moment.  
  
Fleeting memories skittered through Knives's mind: a small white table in the midst of a garden--- the sound of gunplay flashing in the air--- the dark light of the angel arms, swirling together in a deadly dance.  
  
The sound of five simple gunshots, precisely aimed.  
  
"How...very _kind _of you," he whispered softly. If his tone held a note of sarcasm, his brother chose not to notice. "How long have I been asleep?"  
  
"You need to rest now," Vash told him in that quiet voice, not answering his question. "You shouldn't strain yourself too much--- Meryl said you need to lie still or you'll start bleeding again."  
  
His eyelids began to feel heavy, all of a sudden.  
  
"Meryl?" Knives asked suspiciously, fighting off the drowsiness that threatened to overtake him. He did not like the sound of the name. That meant one of _them _was here.  
  
"You'll see," Vash said placatingly. "Everything will be all right now. You'll see," he repeated firmly. Reaching out, he held tightly onto Knives's hand and smiled warmly, as if to reassure him of this truth.  
  
It had quite the opposite effect.  
  
"_We'll _see," Knives whispered, pulling his hand away despite the pain. "Then we'll judge whether everything will be all right," he rasped sharply, his echoing words mocking his brother's reassurances.  
  
Silence filled the room, a yawning gap suddenly between them. Long minutes passed, and neither brother spoke a word.  
  
"There will be someone here at all times to take care of you," Vash finally continued. He leaned away from his twin, distancing himself reluctantly. The sadness had returned to his eyes, the sorrow even stronger than before.   
  
"You won't be here?" Knives's voice caught for a fleeting moment, that queer mix of anger and pleading he had always held hidden within his tone.  
  
Vash paused, as if reconsidering.  
  
"Sometimes," Vash finally replied. "Not always."  
  
He was cutting the strings. Again.  
  
"Don't leave me here," Knives whispered, half begging, half threatening his brother. "You can't leave me here."   
  
He could feel unconsciousness stalking him, ready to pounce upon his psyche. It wasn't a natural impulse. He never should have taken the water. But then again, he had never dreamed his brother would be--- could ever be--- that devious. That deceptive.  
  
"Sleep well, brother," Vash murmured, drawing away from the bed.  
  
"Don't you dare leave me alone again!" Knives hissed furiously, silently cursing his helplessness. He reached out a hand to grasp his brother's arm, but he was already gone.  
  
"Bastard..." he breathed, before the edges of his consciousness slipped away, back into the darkness.  
  


*****************

  
Vash stirred, unsettled from his sleep. His body was drenched in sweat and twisted into the bedcovers, the thick cloth laying uncomfortably hot against his skin. Standing, he shrugged out of them quickly, opening the window above his bed to breathe in the welcome cold night air.  
  
He lifted a hand to his face, feeling vaguely disturbed. Something nagged him at the back of his mind, but skittered away elusively when he tried to bring it forward into consciousness.  
  
It felt important.  
  
A light cut across the room, pouring suddenly from the opening door. He smiled to himself, not turning around. He knew who it was already. The door shut again quietly, restoring the former darkness as padded feet approached him.  
  
She seemed to have acquired a sixth sense over time, at least when it involved him. Perhaps it was simply experience gained from living with him over the past months --- but he privately felt it was more than just that. They shared a common bond.  
  
In either case, she was here. As she always was, when he felt troubled.  
  
A feather touch brushed against his bare back, lingering lightly on his scars. He stood still for a moment, closing his eyes and savoring the silence. She waited, patient as ever, for him to break it. Wordlessly, she slipped her arms around his waist and leaned into him. He returned the favor by pulling her more tightly against him.  
  
"You know," he murmured, still gazing out the window, "the stars are always beautiful, no matter what happens."  
  
"Is that so?" Her voice held a measure of amusement, rich and full. "Tell me about the stars." Her voice was low and quiet, like a lover's caress. He shivered pleasantly from the sound of it.  
  
It was a tempting thought to forget about the stars, to leave behind his idle musing. But she had asked a question.  
  
He paused to gather his thoughts. "Despite...despite all the pain, all the sadness on this world...they continue to shine. They give their light freely." A hush descended upon them both as he continued. "They are eternal," he whispered softly, almost to himself.  
  
"Like you," she replied after a pause, a hint of sadness coloring her voice. _But not me._ The unvoiced thought hung between them. He could feel her head rest upon his back, almost resignedly. In his mind's eye, he could imagine her closing her eyes, quiet melancholy shadowing her features.  
  
Something inside him ached at the thought of her slipping away, with every fleeting second.  
  
He turned to her then, drawing her close to shield her from her sorrow. She huddled in his embrace, so small in comparison. He smiled at her in spite of himself, observing the entirely too large shirt she wore drooping around her shoulders. She had pushed the sleeves back, the cumbersome folds of cloth bunching at her elbows; but it was still entirely too long, lending her the appearance of a small child.  
  
In all this time, he had never touched her. Not in that way, although he had considered the notion seriously. Their relationship balanced a fine line between the passionate and the platonic, and it was always so easy to tip the scales one way or the other. Perhaps it was because of its fragile nature that he hesitated to upset this balance. It seemed such a delicate thing...he feared that it would shatter like glass from the wrong move, the wrong words.  
  
No, that wasn't quite right. He doubted its reality. He feared one day he would wake up, and find it was nothing more than a broken illusion, a mere dream withering away under the heat of the twin suns.  
  
And so there they were, possessing a curious blend of intimate yet distanced mannerisms, too uncertain to turn them into something more familiar.  
  
"Stay with me," he whispered into the darkness. "Please, for tonight, stay here with me." It was an impulsive request, and one he was unsure if he should ask for.  
  
He could see she thought so too, judging from her hesitant reaction. "Is that...wise?" she murmured in quiet protest, drawing back to look at him. She did not say anything more, but he knew what she was truly asking. _Is this what you really want? _  
  
He almost refused. He almost told her to go back to her room, to forget this sudden fancy that had seized him. But these moments were fleeting, and she would not be there forever. He could feel the sands of time falling even as she spoke.  
  
He drew her back to him, lying down on the soft covers, pulling her close. "Just stay here with me," he whispered into her ear. "Only that, nothing more."  
  
He knew her answer already. She could never deny him anything, not when it was important.  
  
That troubled him sometimes.  
  


*****************

  
Awakening was an effort, a thrashing struggle for dominance over an insubordinate subconscious. Knives clawed his way out of his disturbed dreams, of blood and screams echoing endlessly in his mind, drowning him with faceless, accusing voices.  
  
They had been following him lately, rising up in his weakest moments to strike at him.  
  
The worst was always _her,_ the one who had cared for him and his brother as her own.  
  
She never spoke, never stirred from her standing pose; she merely watched him with those endlessly forgiving eyes, her arms outstretched lovingly towards him. And he knew in his heart that she bore him no ill will.  
  
Though he killed her a thousand different times, in countless excruciating ways, her expression never wavered. Her forgiveness was complete.  
  
He hated her most for that.  
  
He sat up quickly, shaking his head to clear away the fading images in his mind. He suddenly wished he hadn't, as a wave of dizziness assailed his senses. He leaned back again weakly, giving in reluctantly to the needs of his condition.  
  
The room was dark, almost pitch black. No moonlight shone through the now drawn curtains, and no welcome breeze brushed past his cheek as he took in his surroundings. Faintly, he could hear a soft breathing coming from the corner, like someone in a deep slumber.  
  
"Vash?" he whispered hopefully into the night, hesitantly turning his head towards the sound. He was unsure of what he wished to find.  
  
He realized his mistake as soon as he looked closer at the slumped figure, drowsing contentedly in the small chair. The size was about right, but the hair seemed too long and the shape all wrong to be his brother.  
  
No, it had to be one of _them._  
  
He snarled silently at the thought, disgusted by the close proximity. He watched the girl--- for female she was--- with derision, noting that delicate fragility in her face that all mortals seemed to hold. Her breathing was quiet and regular as she lay half-crumpled in her chair, her upper body partly sprawled upon the edge of a table beside her. Her head rested somewhat awkwardly on her arm, teetering dangerously off the table, threatening to spill her entire frame upon the considerably less forgiving floor. Occasionally she would mumble incoherently, her small voice shaping sounds of which only she knew the meaning, stirring fitfully from her own private troubles.  
  
He dismissed her immediately as a typical human.  
  
Beyond the near wall, he could hear two voices, male and female, low and murmuring. Wondering if one of them could be Vash, he strained to listen, trying unsuccessfully to pick out words from the muffled syllables.  
  
It suddenly occurred to him that he might be eavesdropping on a rather private moment. He flushed angrily at the implications, feeling slightly betrayed by his twin, if indeed that was his voice. Alone and abandoned, Knives briefly contemplated hitting the wall, but again acquiesed to the weaknesses of his body.  
  
A sudden crash drew his attention away from his discovery. He found the girl splayed on the ground, blinking confusedly over at him. She had finally lost grip of the table.  
  
"Oh, you're awake," she yawned sleepily, rubbing her eyes absently with curled fingers. She stretched lazily, standing up slowly from her position on the floor. He watched her warily, as one would a wild animal, uncertain if she would strike.  
  
She didn't cut a terribly intimidating figure. Except for her height, everything about her seemed to radiate an aura of kindness and light. The soft brown hair, the baby blue eyes--- even the rumpled pajamas that covered her --- it all smacked of innocence and childhood. Or motherhood; to Knives, it amounted to much the same thing, in the end.   
  
She smiled encouragingly at him, friendly and open. "Are you hungry?" she asked immediately. Her voice was a small girl's, high-pitched and lilting. "I could get you some pudding, if you'd like." Her face became very serious as she leaned forward, her voice lowering conspiratorally. "Pudding is very important, you know. Vash-san and Sempai always forget to get some unless I remind them," she confided to him. She tilted her head at him, assessing his reaction. "Perhaps you would like something else?"  
  
Knives fell silent, uncertain under this barrage of speech. She reminded him of someone, but he refused to acknowledge the recognition. She held out her hand reassuringly, as if offering that same peace that eluded him in dreams.  
  
He stared at it uncomprehendingly, wondering if this were a trick, or if he had merely dreamed that he had awakened. Looking back up at her, opening his mouth to reply.  
  
"No," he whispered softly. He pushed her hand away firmly.  
  
Despite her cheery nature, he could still see that touch of sadness in her eyes--- that bit of sorrow that inevitably all mortals possessed, some better hidden than others. It was that same sadness he saw reflected in his brother's eyes, as he gazed upon the tragedy inherent in their empty, flickering lives.  
  
"I don't need anything from you."  
  
It was Knives's firm belief that neither he nor his brother would ever have known sorrow, if it weren't for these humans.   
  
He could never forgive them for that.  
  


*****************

  
She awoke to an empty bed.  
  
Morning light streamed in from the window, harsh and unforgiving. Absently, Meryl rubbed the sleep from her eyes. Idly, she wondered when the window had moved.  
  
Memory filtered in with the sunlight as her mind unclouded. She wasn't in her room. She was in his bed. He wasn't.  
  
Somehow, she wasn't surprised.  
  
She still felt ambivalent about the night before, unsure what to make of it. It had always been this way, this uncertainty and lack of proper boundaries. She had long ago accepted that what existed between them was fluid and mutable, impossible to pin down or classify.   
  
Sometimes she felt like a rag doll, being tossed around like a child's toy.  
  
She could not blame him, not after all he had gone through. It was simply the way things were.   
  
There were times when she wondered if she were nothing more than an emotional crutch, a form of release when he could no longer bear the pain he carried inside. She could see the hurt still seething within him, always threatening to burst out of his cheerful facade.  
  
Sometimes, she wondered if she were merely a replacement for _her._  
  
She shied away from such thoughts, pushing them as firmly aside as she did the bedcovers. Standing, she made her way to the kitchen, where she could hear sounds of breakfast being prepared.  
  
He was meticulously arranging a scrambled egg on a plate, looking very serious in his cook's apron. Meryl suppressed a smile at the yellow smiley face placed so prominently on the front. On the stove, another egg was frying noisily, crying out for attention before it became overcooked. Vash continued to ignore it. Faintly, Meryl could detect the scent of slightly burnt toast in the air.  
  
"Oh, you're up," he said, looking at her in the doorway. "I thought I'd make some breakfast," he continued, gesturing helplessly at the plates laid out on the table. Meryl noted the rather dark pieces of toast and the somewhat sad looking egg he had been attempting to fix. He laughed sheepishly. "It...didn't quite turn out the way I planned."  
  
The forgotten egg splattered quite loudly in the pan, demanding to be attended to. Vash quickly turned around, frantically searching for a plate. Meryl calmly handed him one from the table. He accepted it meekly. "I'm not used to cooking," he offered by way of explanation.  
  
"But you've been doing it every other day," she pointed out, struggling not to laugh out loud.  
  
"Yes, but today it's different," he replied, an enigmatic smile creeping onto his face. She gave him an odd look as he transferred the egg to the plate, accepting it from him and placing it on the table. He hummed contentedly to himself as he turned off the stove, preparing to eat. He seemed happier today, albeit clumsier as well.  
  
She shook her head, giving up on trying to understand. "Where's Millie?" she asked, looking around for her partner.  
  
"She's watching Knives." Vash's voice became quieter, his cheerful mood deflating at the sound of the name. "I don't think either of them have woken up yet."  
  
A swelling of sympathy rose within Meryl. Drawing close, she leaned up towards him, kissing him lightly on his cheek. He looked at her, his face a mix of shock and pleasant surprise.  
  
"What was that for?" he asked, his eyes wide and innocent.  
  
She smiled back at him, as unreadable as he was before, hoping desperately that she wasn't blushing. It would ruin the effect. "Just because," she replied enigmatically. He wasn't the only one who could be obscure. "Now, hurry up and eat. We have to get supplies today."  
  
He nodded quickly, following her orders to the letter.  
  


*****************

  
Supply runs were always...interesting, to say the least.  
  
It was the kindest word Meryl could think of to describe the experience.  
  
"I hurt...." Vash mumbled, holding his head gingerly in his hands.  
  
"It's your own fault," Meryl retorted, stooping down to check his injury. "You should watch where you're going."  
  
"That cat," Vash insisted firmly, "was trying to kill me." He pointed an accusing finger at a small black tabby curled up on a nearby porch. Its golden eyes watched him warily, while its tail twitched restlessly from side to side.  
  
"Myaa," the cat replied in its defense. After a few moments, it apparently dismissed him as a threat, for it turned its back towards him with a sniff, padding back to a shadier corner to rest.  
  
"You tripped over it," Meryl clarified. She tried unsuccessfully to move Vash's hands away from his head, but he stubbornly refused to cooperate. "Don't go blaming the cat for your own clumsiness. Now, will you let me see where it hurts?"  
  
"It willfully and maliciously ran into my path," Vash asserted. "Just look at it, smirking like that! It _meant _to trip me." He stabbed his finger at the black cat's general direction to emphasize his point. He wrestled his head away from Meryl's grasp, keeping a firm distance between him and the little animal on the porch.   
  
Meryl turned and looked at the feline offender. Come to think of it, it did look rather smug, licking its paw soliticiously. She shook her head, clearing such notions from her mind. Ridiculous. Cats just did not do those sorts of things.  
  
"Vash," she sighed, "just leave the cat alone." She moved toward him again, gently coaxing his arms down, inspecting his head for bumps or wounds. Finding none, she helped him stand once more.  
  
"We need to hurry," she heard him mutter. "He'll wake soon..."  
  
She did not want to think about that.  
  
Carefully picking up the bundles that Vash had dropped when he had so unceremoniously tumbled to the ground, Meryl motioned to him to do the same. There was a lot to carry, and Meryl wished that Millie was there to help. She did not want to remember where Millie was at that moment, though, and so she carried on her task silently.   
  
She tried not to think on whose shift it was next.  
  


*****************

  
The scent of rich stew caught his senses the next time he awoke. Stirring slowly, he pulled himself up cautiously to find a pair of steady gray eyes watching him from the chair. For a moment he thought he was still dreaming, still caught in a nightmare of kindness before realizing it was a different woman seated before him. There were physical similarities, certainly, but there was something in the way she carried herself that made it clear she was no Rem.   
  
"Are you hungry?" she asked, rising to her feet with the bowl of stew, carrying it to his bed. She didn't bother to wait for his nod, and he quickly found a piping hot spoonful nearing his mouth. She paused outside his lips, waiting for it to cool, the warm steam brushing against his face. He did not deign to blow upon the mouthful to speed the process, nor did she seem to expect him to. After a few moments, he judged it cool enough to eat, and she tipped the soupy mass into his mouth cleanly, letting him catch the spoon with his lips briefly before pulling away again. She stirred the remaining meat pieces in the bowl without a word, repeating the process until he was sated.  
  
He continued staring at her as she put everything away neatly upon a tray, presumably one she had brought with her earlier. She continued to ignore him, stoically performing her duties. He shifted uncomfortably, unused to such blatant indifference.  
  
"Do you have a name?" he whispered harshly, hardly caring about the answer but wanting to break the suddenly insufferable silence.  
  
"Meryl," she answered briefly, still avoiding his eyes. He reached out hesitantly, catching her chin in his hand and tilting her face towards his, stilling her movement. Her skin was cool to the touch, her gaze even colder as she waited for him to satisfy his curiosity. He released her quickly, not wanting to prolong the contact.  
  
"Meryl," he repeated to himself, remembering how his brother had lingered over the word, and the two voices he had heard murmuring to each other the night before. A pang of jealousy settled uncomfortably with the stew in his stomach.  
  
"Come to preach the virtues of humanity?" he sneered, wanting to lash out at her.  
  
"No," she replied calmly, although a tremble marred her voice. She stared unflinchingly into his eyes. "You're old enough by now to decide what you think. You don't need me to tell you what you should be doing."  
  
He suddenly wanted to break her apart where she stood--- wanted to bend her over backwards and snap her spine in half. He wanted to hurt her as he wanted to hurt Rem. The intensity of the emotion left him breathless for a moment, and he struggled to keep it from showing on his face.  
  
He finally settled for a smirk, meeting her gaze with a cockiness he did not feel. "Perhaps you should tell my brother that." His smooth voice lingered unconsciously upon the term, as if unwilling to part with it in her presence.  
  
"He's old enough to know what he's doing too," she told him without hesitation, choosing to overlook the possessiveness in his tone.   
  
"Then why are we here now?" he whispered softly, half to himself. She only shook her head in reply, lapsing into a long silence.  
  
"He does love you, you know," she said finally, breaking the silence again. "This is all for your sake."  
  
Knives snorted, turning his head away. "The road to hell is paved with good intentions," he quoted to her somberly.  
  
"I suppose that would explain you," she observed. That earned her another sharp glance, which she shrugged aside easily.  
  
"He's no different from me," he said, contempt coloring his face as he challenged those clear eyes, far too sharp for their own good. "We both do what we must, to create our own Edens."  
  
"There is a difference," she murmured softly. "He creates and nurtures. You can only destroy."  
  
This time, it was he who had no reply.  
  
He was almost sorry to see her go when she did, leaving him only with confused dreams of Rem, and hazy gray eyes which cleared away the lies and half truths surrounding him. When he awoke later, alone and ashamed, he could still remember the cool touch of her skin upon his hand, wishing he could forget.  
  
  
  
  
Author's notes: Huh. My first attempt at being serious. Hopefully, it wasn't too painful for you all.  
  
Knives is difficult to write, but Millie is even harder. I apologize ahead of time if they seemed terribly out of character(this includes Vash and Meryl as well. Especially Meryl.)  
  
I tried to keep the discussions from becoming philosophical tripe, but I'm not really sure I succeeded at all. I just had this image in my head of Knives and Meryl verbally fencing while he's confined to bed, and that's the image I tried to convey while writing.  
  



	2. Of Fairy Tales and Dreams

Of Fairy Tales and Dreams...

_Once upon a time, a long, long time ago, when man was still very young, there lived a woman high up in a castle that rested among the clouds, far, far away. _

This woman they called Grandmother, although she had no children, and never seemed to age. But her kindness was infinite, and her love boundless, and she would never turn away a soul in need. 

"I suppose next you'll tell me she had a knack for baking chocolate chip cookies." 

"Be quiet and listen to the story." 

_Now one fateful day, when the winds blew portentously about the rolling hills of sand, Grandmother found a pair of twins in the desert, cold and alone amidst the wasteland. And so she took them to her castle in the sky to care for them. _

They were beautiful and perfect, as any mother would wish in a child, with silvery blonde hair and soulful, expressive blue eyes that seemed to go on forever. One was the embodiment of joy and happiness, ever reveling in the fact that he was alive. The other was quieter, more reticent, but nonetheless just as beautiful. He rarely spoke to any but his brother, and almost never smiled. He personified the aspect of sorrow, ever conscious of the fact that he would someday die. 

But she loved them both dearly, as only a mother could, never giving one more love than the other. 

"That's a lie." 

"I beg your pardon?" 

"This 'equal love' business. She always liked the cheerful one better." 

"It's only a story, Knives." 

"Stories always have a grain of truth in them somewhere." Knives scowled fitfully. "Humanity was never creative enough to make up their own without basing it on something they'd seen before." 

Meryl sighed and returned to the tale. It was an old one, something passed down from her mother, and her mother's mother before her. It was an ancient legend that had been around for as long as anyone could remember. 

"Who were they, Mama?" she remembered asking her mother, curious as children are wont to be at that age. "Were they gods who lived in the sky?" 

"Now, child, you know there's only one god out there," her mother had gently admonished her. "Remember what the priest told you at church." 

Even back then, Meryl had had great doubt in the infallibility of priests and their church. In retrospect, she supposed that Wolfwood had been the final confirmation of something she had suspected for a very, very long time. 

"But then why did they live in the sky? I thought only God did that." 

"They were around a long time before God was, honey." Her mother had smiled sadly, but Meryl had never understood why. "Before man had grown old and lost his wings." 

"Were we angels then?" 

"We were more than angels once, sweetheart. We owned the sky." 

_One day, the somber twin approached Grandmother, asking a boon. "I wish to travel the world," he beseeched her, "and see the five moons of the sky from the ground. I wish to know the ways of those who dwell below us, and of those who creep along the sands of the earth." _

Grandmother looked at him sadly, knowing that this day would come. "Do you truly wish this, my son?" she asked him quietly. "You have lived a peaceful life, protected by the clouds and the skies. You have neither experienced pain nor suffering, and the world is full of harsh and sorrowful things." 

"I am ready," the somber twin affirmed, determined to see his journey through. 

Grandmother sighed, knowing that no amount of pleading or begging would move him, once his mind was set. "Very well, then. Take your brother and roam the lands. Learn all that you can, and you may return here one year hence." 

Before the brothers left, she gave them swords of shining fury, of bright light that would protect them if ever they were in need. Only they and they alone could wield them, one of white fiery metal, as gleaming and silvery as the moons, the other of blackest steel, darker than the fields of the starry night sky. 

"Use these only for your own protection," she told them firmly. "Never stray from the path set before you, and always travel together. And never, ever take away the gift of life." 

"Yes, Grandmother," they replied dutifully. As they turned to go, Grandmother offered the somber twin one last bit of wisdom from her lips. 

"Do not become discouraged, my sorrowful one," she whispered gently. "You will find much evil in the world, but do not let it overshadow the good that you will find along the way." 

Perhaps he did not believe her, or perhaps the wind blew the words away before they could reach his ears. Who knows what would have have come to pass had he heeded them? In the end, it may not have made a difference. 

"This is a waste of time," Knives told her bluntly. 

"It wasn't my idea," Meryl said in her defense. "Blame your brother. He's the one who thought it'd be a great idea to start telling you fairy tales before your bedtime." 

"In the hopes that I'd mistake you for some mother figure, lulling me to sleep?" Knives scoffed in a mocking tone. "He can't possibly be that stupid." 

"No, but he's very optimistic, which sometimes amounts to the same thing," Meryl pointed out. Personally she thought Millie would have made a better candidate for fostering motherly tendencies, but Vash had insisted for some reason that Meryl do it instead. 

The only maternal instinct Meryl possessed, as far as she could see, was the one that manifested whenever a mother caught her boy at something he shouldn't be doing, or, worse yet, doing something that no one in their right mind would ever think of doing in a thousand years. 

In other words, she possessed the irrepressible instinct to whack the idiot upside the head for being stupid. 

Although, she mused as she looked at Knives again, in this particular case it might be the appropriate response. Maybe Vash did know what he was doing after all. 

She suddenly chuckled, to the vast confusion and irritation of her patient, who glowered at her. "Humans," he muttered to himself, turning away in disgust. 

She chose not to share her thought with Knives, feeling correctly that he would not have appreciated it. 

When did Vash ever know what he was doing, anyway? 

"Damn lucky, that's all," she murmured under her breath before continuing to retell the ancient fairy tale to an uncaring audience.

*****************

The dream began, as it always had. 

_"Rem!"_

He could almost see her. The woman who had made all the difference in his life. 

_"Rem..."_

Her back was always turned to him at first. Red petals swirled around her, contrasting sharply with a brilliant blue sky. In the distance, billowy white clouds dotted the horizon, flowing gently like a river of wispy cotton across his field of vision. 

_"Rem...was I wrong?"_

She turned, smiling. Always laughing, her amber eyes filled with joy--- joy from simply being alive. 

He had always tried his best to emulate her. 

_"Do you think you were wrong, Vash?" _

"I--- I don't know." 

The uncertainty was unsettling. He longed for something concrete...something to tell him that he was in the right. 

As if reading his mind, Rem laughed again. A stray breeze caught her dark hair, swaying it gently against her face. She reached up a hand to brush it aside, releasing it behind her to flare dramatically in the wind. He found the effect breathtaking. 

_"Uncertainty is a part of living, Vash." _

"I don't understand." 

"Trust in yourself. In the end, that's really all you can do." 

He shook his head to clear the confusion clouding his mind. 

_"But---" _

"Always remember, Vash. Your future is always a blank ticket, waiting to be filled." 

She slowly began to fade away. 

_"No, wait! Rem!" _

"Goodbye, Vash." 

"But I still need you..." He reached out a hand, as if to catch her fading image. 

_"No, you don't. You just don't know it yet."_ She was barely anything more than a voice now. 

_"I still don't understand!"_ he called frustratedly. He dashed around blindly, madly trying to find her again. 

_"You will..."_ She was but a whisper on the wind. 

_"Don't leave me again..."_ he trailed off longingly. _"Rem...Come back...please..." _

She was gone. 

A cold gust blew by, chilling his skin. He shivered at the sudden silence, feeling empty inside. 

In the distance, he could hear a faint sobbing. 

Tears? 

A shape appeared far ahead of him, curled up on the floor. She was swathed in faded white cloth, dark hair obscuring her face. Her cries were muffled, as if she was trying to stifle them. 

_"Rem?"_ he asked hesitantly. 

She ignored his query, turning her head away even further. 

As he approached her, he realized it wasn't Rem. Her frame was too small, her hair too short. 

Rem would never cry. Not like this. 

Her shoulders were heaving from the force of her crying, her almost violent sobs wracking her body. She continued to hide her face from him as he drew closer, as if she was ashamed of her sorrow. Her clothes were torn and ragged, her hair tangled and in disarray. Her bare arms revealed discolored bruises, some faintly healed over, some still fresh and dark. From the way she held herself, he suspected that more of the same covered her entire body. 

_"Please...don't cry."_ His words echoed familiarly. A warning flashed in the back of his mind, but refused to elaborate. Shaking his head, unable to decipher the feeling, he gently held out his hands towards the girl. She pulled away from his touch, shrinking in on herself, her hair still obscuring her face. 

_"Don't be afraid. I won't hurt you."_ Something tugged at the corners of his mind, nagging him. He felt as if he should know this girl. Reaching out, he laid a hand on her shoulder to coax her to turn to him. 

**"Don't touch me." **

The words were delivered coldly, belying her distraught appearance. Her voice reverberated with an unearthly tone. He looked sharply at her, hastily brushing aside her hair to reveal a face full of hate and contempt --- reflected perfectly in cool, clear gray eyes. 

Meryl's. 

The scene shifted. He stood, surrounded in inky blackness. Off to one side, a light shone down upon a figure sheathed in folds of red cloth, holding absolutely still. Her dress was a dark crimson silk, falling airily about her slim body. Intricate patterns of gold embroidery were interwoven throughout the material, glittering in the harsh illumination. In her hands, she held a dark red rose, the same color as her dress. 

The color of blood. 

He approached warily, trying to get a closer look. Her face was veiled with a soft gauzy material, keeping her identity hidden. He carefully removed it, pushing it aside to drape behind her head. 

_"Meryl...?" _

Her eyes were glassy, staring ahead into the distance, unseeing. She seemed in some sort of trance. 

He shook her gently, but she did not awaken. 

Laughter resounded around him, echoing endlessly into the darkness. He took a step back and looked about, but there was no one to be seen. 

_"Do you like what you see, Vash?"_ a deep voice taunted. _"Isn't she beautiful?" _

He turned back to Meryl to find his brother materializing behind her, placing his hands on her shoulders familiarly, sliding them down her bare arms. Almost affectionately, he leaned forward and kissed her on the side of her face. His movements were slow and deliberate, as if he was savoring each moment. His eyes never left Vash's face. 

She still had not moved. 

A surge of unfamiliar emotions rose up inside of him. _"Leave her alone."_ His voice became a low growl, a warning carried in its tone. 

Knives smiled amusedly. _"Like you have?"_ He ran a hand absently through her dark, silky hair. _"She's willing to give you everything, Vash. But you keep pushing her away." _

His smirk widened into a sadistic look. _"Now, she's mine."_ His arm snaked around her waist and pulled her close possessively. Watching him intently, Knives brought his mouth to her neck, nipping her soft skin with his teeth. From where he stood, Vash could see faint marks forming where his brother bit her. 

He snarled and reached forward, but was repelled back by some force. Frustrated, Vash started forward again, but could not push past the barrier. This doesn't make any sense, he thought to himself frantically. _Knives would rather die before he ever touched a human willingly._ Intellectually, he could see this was an impossible scenario, but this did not halt the rising tide of anger and protectiveness welling inside of him. 

_"Meryl!"_ he shouted, helpless to do anything else. _"What did you do to her?" _

Knives laughed again, that cruel, quiet laughter. _"Jealous, Vash? Would you rather it be you here?" _ He released her slowly, his hands lingering before removing themselves from her body. 

In an instant, she was in Vash's arms, warm and alive. Reaching up, she wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling his face to hers. He caught his breath at the sudden closeness. Closing his eyes, he could taste her lips against his, soft and sweet, as he had always imagined them to be. 

He almost lost control of himself in that kiss. 

He almost lost himself in that kiss. 

With a great effort of will, he pulled away from her. His hands were shaking unsteadily, his breath uneven. He swallowed hard, struggling to regain his sense of self. Even then, every part of him was screaming to return to those arms, that mouth. To her. Vaguely, he could hear his brother laughing again. 

A chill ran up his spine as he realized her eyes were still blank as ever, devoid of all emotion. He pushed her away, shivering. She stepped back into Knives's arms, awaiting orders. 

_"What, don't you like her better this way, dear brother?"_ he could hear Knives sneering at him, taunting. "_So quiet, so docile. She'll do anything she's told, now."_

_"Let her go, Knives."_ His voice held a calmness he did not feel. _"This isn't about her."_

_"On the contrary, brother."_ Knives smiled, his hands reaching again to tangle softly into Meryl's hair. _"This has everything to do with her."_ He bent down to kiss her cheek in an oddly paternal gesture. _"Her, and everyone else that has come between us...."_

His hands tightened, yanking Meryl's head back painfully. Still smiling, he traced her neck with the fingertips of his left hand. 

Vash swallowed hard. _"Knives. Don't hurt her."_ He pushed against the invisible wall that once again blocked his path. It held unyieldingly against his efforts. _"Please."_

_"Her. Always her. Always_ them." Knives finally broke his gaze from his brother, glancing down contemptuously at the limp girl in his arms. _"Why, brother? Why do you forsake me for them? What have they ever done for you?"_ Releasing her hair, Knives turned her around to face him, staring at her as if seeing her for the first time. His hands wrapped around her throat delicately, his expression unchanging. 

Vash didn't like where this was headed. _"Please, Knives. Leave her alone. She doesn't need to be part of this."_ His voice was hoarse, and he had to restrain himself from crying out. 

_"I don't understand what you see in them." _His fingers tightened abruptly. A small sound escaped from Meryl's mouth in response, the only sign of consciousness she had shown so far. 

_"Knives!"_ Vash felt as if his throat was tearing out. "For the love of God, let her go!" 

Immediately, Vash wanted to take his words back as Knives stiffened at the invocation. His grip on Meryl tightened even further, the soft flesh beneath his fingers turning a livid white. _"It's the same,"_ he said, his voice low and controlled._"It's always the same. She couldn't die the first time."_ He began shaking her."_Why do you keep coming back?"_ Reaching again to yank her hair, he pulled her head back to expose her throat._"Why can't you stay dead?"_

He pulled his hand back, a knife materializing in his palm. With a fluid movement, he brought it down, a bright fountain of red slashing across her neck. The blood pooled from the wound, dripping downwards to melt into the dress, its colors blending with the crimson already present. Calmly, he dropped her to the ground. 

"NO!!" Vash cried out loud as he reached towards Meryl, the wall vanishing. All he could see was the spilling blood and her glassy eyes, even now darkening as the light left them. He threw himself forward to catch her falling body, gravity taking hold and dragging him down--- 

--- and he opened his eyes, his mouth shaped in a silent scream. 

Vash bolted up in a sweat, frantically scanning his surroundings. Gradually, as his heartbeat slowed, he could hear a faint voice on the other side of the wall. Her voice. 

Sighing in relief, he leaned weakly against the head of his bed, letting the words wash over him, soothing his fears. Her voice was muted, and the sounds barely clear, but somehow it didn't matter. The words were not what was important. 

It was a long time before he closed his eyes again, but when he finally did, he slipped into a dreamless, unbroken sleep.

*****************

Millie hummed softly to herself as she wandered through the kitchen, dutifully fixing a midnight snack. Regular meals were always an important staple of attaining a happy life, even if it meant your regular meal times had to take place at irregular hours. 

Milk, cereal, banana. She took inventory carefully, remembering what her mother had always told her about having a balanced diet. 

"I seem to be missing something," she mused out loud, although there was no one to hear her. It seemed to be happening more and more these days, but it didn't really bother her that much. 

Not really. 

She had grown used to the echoing halls and the empty rooms, as the other occupants of the house grew increasingly more reclusive. And if occasionally she would occasionally find herself speaking to someone who wasn't there, or begin to feel shut out or left behind, it was something that she could make herself forget quite easily. 

Of course. It wasn't a problem at all. 

"Ah, there we go," she said happily, fishing a small cup of pudding from the cupboard, "the perfect dessert." 

She placed the pudding neatly beside the other items, arranging them in an aesthetically pleasing fashion on the tray. Grabbing a spoon along the way, she walked to Knives's room, still humming a light song she had learned from her mother. 

She didn't expect a full-blown war when she opened the door. 

"You stupid, ignorant woman!" Knives had thrown aside the blanket at some point, clearly forgetting his injuries. Millie could see the bandages on his arm staining red from his efforts, but he hardly seemed to notice as he clenched his fists in frustration. She wondered why Meryl had not treated him yet, but one look at her Sempai answered all her questions. 

"Why can't you just shut up and let me tell the goddamned story? Or is it below you to listen to a little fable some human made up?" Meryl had drawn herself up from her chair, half leaning towards Knives in her rage. Her eyes flashed a pale gray as her voice and face grew more animated by the second. 

"You don't know anything. You can't even comprehend what you're talking about. And besides, you're telling it wrong." He was definitely agitated now, glaring at her with full intensity. Not surprisingly, it had no effect upon his target, who only seemed to grow angrier at his words. 

"Who are you to tell me I'm telling it wrong? It's my story!" 

"It has nothing to do with you, you idiot. And I keep telling you, you're getting it all wrong!" 

"What the hell are you talking about? I know your injuries didn't include a sharp crack on the head, but maybe it should have---" 

"Um...Sempai?" Millie broke in before the pair killed each other in a fit of fury. They both turned, their eyes focusing simultaneously upon her. She felt distinctly uncomfortable under their scrutiny. "IÑ I brought something to eat." Hastily she set the tray down on the table, almost spilling the glass of milk in the process. 

"I... thank you, Millie." To Millie's relief, Meryl's manner softened at the interruption. Breathing in deeply, she calmed visibly as she pulled herself together. "Let me help you with that." She stood to help her steady the tray, but Millie shook her head. 

"Don't worry about me, Sempai. Maybe you should help him instead." Millie motioned towards Knives, still glowering from his position in his bed. Confused, Meryl turned her head to look at him. 

She started guiltily, perhaps noticing his bandages for the first time. "When...? Never mind. Millie, get some bandages and some water." Concern painted her features as her eyes traced over the bloodstain that was seeping through the rough cloth bound tightly around Knives's arm. 

"Yes, Sempai." Millie moved towards the door, stilling at the glare Knives directed towards her. 

"I told you before," he said, enunciating his words slowly as if he were speaking to a child. "I don't need any help from you. Either of you. And I meant it." 

"Be quiet, you," Meryl said, rounding on Knives. "Lay down. Lay back down! The last thing you need to do is strain yourself." 

Knives snorted. "A fine job you've done so far." He pushed his arm forward in indication. 

Meryl colored at that, but straightened quickly, her fists clenched. "For what it's worth, I'm sorry," she said in a tight voice. "I didn't mean to hurt you. But we both know you need to rest. So please, lie back down and relax. If you want, I'll leave you in Millie's care, and we can forget the whole thing happened." 

"Afraid I'll tell Vash?" He drawled out the words, smirking at her sputtering reaction. "You needn't worry. I take care of my own problems." He eyed her meaningfully, but reclined back onto the bed without further protest. 

"You know that's not what I mean." Clutching the blanket, she absently pulled it over his exposed torso. He wrestled it gently from her grasp, steering her hands away firmly from his body. 

"You make a lot of assumptions about what I know." His voice was silky and quiet, but Millie shivered at the ice she heard in his tone, unconsciously tightening her grip upon the door handle. Silently, she began counting down the seconds before Meryl exploded again, wondering if she would have to wake Vash to settle matters. 

But Meryl only pursed her lips, drawing away. "Fine. Have it your way." She glanced at Millie in irritation. "What are you still doing here? Stay with him. I'll get the bandages myself." She pushed her way past the confused girl, not quite slamming the door. 

Millie looked at Knives, for once at a loss on what to say. 

*****************

He could still feel the imprint of her filthy hands upon his blanket, their greedy warmth invading the worn cloth. Glowering darkly at the tall girl still in the room, he considered asking her for another cover, but realized that it wouldn't really solve the problem. 

That woman. 

He closed his eyes wearily, as if to shut out the sight of everything before him. Faintly, he could hear rustling nearing him. Judging by the sounds, the tall girl had decided to fiddle with the tray on the table. 

"I can feed myself." He pointed in her direction without looking. "Put it down. Leave me." 

"But Sempai said---" 

"I don't care what that woman told you. I don't want you here." He kept his eyes shut, willing her gone. "Do you understand me, or will I have to start speaking more slowly?" 

He heard the soft clatter of metal and a shuffling of footsteps. The closing of the door announced her departure. Knives slowly released the breath he had been holding. 

Finally. Peace.   


Author's notes: It's been quite a while since I've worked on this, so forgive me if either the thread or the momentum is lost. I've not had the time I once had... I've learned quite well this year that programming and writing stories often are mutually exclusive experiences. 

This chapter isn't really complete. This is sort of a preview I've worked on this week. I've been playing around with different styles and approaches to storytelling, and I wanted to know if I was wasting my time and botching the whole thing up. What say the masses? 

There was also a brief crisis when I realized that Millie seemed to have dropped off the face of the earth in my fic, hence the last bit where I try, belatedly, to put her in at the last minute. (I told you this chapter wasn't complete. It's very rough around the edges.) I also tried a bit of angst, but I'm not sure if it actually flew. I'm not good at writing angsty Millie... angsty Knives seems slightly better(that's for next chapter, once I get it at decent length and plot), but less coherent. 

Anyway, the first part of this chapter came out of my curiosity about fairy tales and legends that could have sprung up on Gunsmoke. After all, every culture has at least one creation story. After mixing in a bit of Grandmother Spider and the infamous Twins (I forget which Native American tribe had those tales... I just remember reading it once when I was very young) and switching to what I like to call "high bard" style, I came up with a little fairy tale of my own. 

Vash's nightmare was originally part of one of my earliest fics, a rather incoherent angst-filled mess called "Silence"(which I never finished or posted), so if parts don't seem to match up exactly with the earlier chapter, you know why. I think I'm going to get a real headache trying to resolve this bit, but I liked it too much to just let it go to waste. And it seemed to fit at the time.... 

Ah, well. Maybe I'll get it right one of these days....*sigh* 

I also apologize for borrowing imagery from "Shoujo Kakumei Utena" for the nightmare scene. 


	3. Falling From Grace

"Falling From Grace"

A boy crouches in the shadows, alone and afraid. He stifles his sobs to stop the echoes bouncing from the pipes of the nether regions of the ship. It is cold, dank, and terrible, not a place for a young child to reside. But it is a quiet place. A secret place. A place where he can hide, away from them all. 

Away from _him_.

_"Rem, why do evil people exist?"_

"Knives, you should know better than that," she clucks her tongue at him. "No one is evil. Not purely evil."

"Then why do bad things happen?" His puzzlement is apparent, spreading rapidly across his face. "Why do people do bad things?"

"They do because they choose to. Everyone has the free will to choose right and wrong." She looks at him as if he should understand, as if this is the obvious answer.

"They choose to do evil," he mulls quietly. "But...if they choose to do evil, doesn't that make them worse? That they could do good, but choose not to?"

"I--- of course not, Knives," she admonishes him gently. "It's part of human nature. Good and bad. But I believe that ultimately, everyone in the end chooses good, given the chance. If you do evil things, you aren't lost. There is still hope. There is always hope."

"But why is there evil? Why is there pain? Why is there suffering?" he persists in asking. "Why do they need to exist at all?" He frowns in thought, struggling with the concept.

"I don't know, Knives," she answers honestly. "Some say that evil is necessary in order for good to exist. Just as light needs its darkness, so does good need its contrast. I guess the simplest way to put it is that we can't appreciate what we have unless someone takes it away."

"That's it? That's _the reason why people suffer? Why people kill? Why people torture, main, and degrade each other?" Knives asks in disbelief. "Because there's a chance we might not be _grateful_ enough about our lives?" He looks at her as if she has just made a joke in poor taste. Perhaps he honestly believes that she has._

He tries not to think on the past. He tries not to remember the pain, the feel of fists raining down upon his hapless flesh, the bright red droplets that become rivulets running down his skin.

He tries not to remember his screams as he begs for the hurting to stop, nor his pleas for mercy, as the beating goes on. And on. And on. 

And he especially tries not to remember his fear. The fear that catches him and breaks him, that takes him screaming in agony and self-loathing and faces him with his own fragile mortality.

_He cries as another blow falls upon him, shattering his shoulder. He can feel his arm hanging limply, sharp pain running up his spine in silent protest, the warm feel of blood seeping through his clothes._

He looks no older than ten. 

His attacker stares down at him, his eyes clouded with rage and hate, but never remorse.

"Stop it," the boy entreats him, his pleas falling on deaf ears. "Please, just stop..."

"Shut up," the man growls, "Shut up!" He walks closer to the boy meanacingly.

"Rem..." the boy whispers, a faint hope that never materializes. "Help me... Rem... anyone---" His voice cracks from the current of fear that runs through his body. I'm going to die, he thinks, despairing. 

As the man draws near, the only thought in the boy's mind is---

Why?

Why did it happen?

Why didn't anyone stop it?

Why does it continue?

_"But he _hurt_ me, Rem. Why can't you stop him?"_

"Hush, Knives, it's all right. We had him confined in the brig until he calmed down. Don't worry, he won't hurt you again." She kneels and pulls the small boy closer to her, trying to soothe his frightened frame. "Steve was drunk, and he says he didn't mean to hurt you. He's very sorry, and it will never happen again." She repeats it calmly, as if chanting it as a mantra would make it true.

"But he hurt me, Rem! You have to stop him..." The small boy looks up at her pleadingly, 

"Knives," she admonishes him gently, pushing him back to look him in the eye. "Remember, Steve isn't a monster. He's a human being. We have to give him a second chance. Everyone deserves that."

"But---"

"Shh, Knives." She stands again, taking his hand. He knows as soon as he has lost eye contact that the conversation is over. "I'll take care of you. He won't hurt you again. I'll make sure of that."

"Do you promise?" he asks quietly, his voice barely more than a whisper.

"I promise." She squeezes his hand reassuringingly.

LIAR.

The thought resounds through his mind, echoing through the hidden corners of his psyche.

Why couldn't you save me?

Where were you when he was hurting me?

You promised to protect me.

You PROMISED.

_"Damn plants," he can hear the man mutter. "Not natural." He shivers as the man draws near again, his breath heavy with the stink of alcohol and hate._

Another jolt of pain accompanies another blow, yet another agony to be borne.

"Monsters, all of you," the man tells him, bring the point home with a kick.

"You don't belong here." His voice echoes in the boy's mind as much as his hits echo through his body. The fear and loathing seething from his tone frightens the boy with its intensity.

As he slowly loses consciousness, he realizes he still does not know why.

"Evil." The man's voice slowly fades away....

What is hate? 

What is pain?

He cannot think. He cannot move. He is rooted to the spot, his mind racing in circles around this fundamental flaw of the universe. The inevitable descent into entropy.

Why does evil exist?

It is there. It is omnipresent, coiled within us all. It lurks, awaiting the time when it uncoils and strikes, inflicting suffering and pain and death and---

_NO._

In the mind of the small boy, a wall is erected, a barrier of protection.

_Not in all of us._

A ray of hope shines within, struggling to drive back the horror of his experience.

_I am NOT LIKE YOU._

A thin thread, a slim lifeline to grasp, the tenuous hold on sanity. The only divider between him and the endless chaos, the eternal madness.

_Humans. YOU cause suffering. You cause pain. You cause evil._

The ray of light thins, turning dark red as he feels the blood seeping from his wounds, drip, drip, dripping onto the floor.

_You are evil._

The dark red spreads across his vision, coloring everything he sees. The darkness within him grows, taking root in the rich soil newly planted.

_I will never be like you._

The barrier is complete, the walls are created; and he stands, in his mind, on an impregnable fortress of blood.

And later--- much, much later, as he watches the fiery stars of his creation tear into the planet below, he will remember this day, and he will remember his mission.

"I will never be like you," he whispers to the falling streaks in the sky, burning brightly as they wink out of existence against the atmosphere. "Count on that."

*****************

She always felt him watching her whenever she entered the room. At first she had shrugged it off, chalking it up to an overactive imagination.

With each passing visit, she found it harder to doubt the presence of his gaze.

It was not an admiring glance, nor was it exactly hostile. Always flickering at the edges of her vision, it would skitter away maddeningly whenever she looked directly at him, leaving her questioning both its existence and her own sanity. 

She had asked Millie to accompany her once. He had been surprisingly docile then, quietly cooperating, doing as he was told without complaint. 

Only a slight smirk had colored his features that day, but she could still see the faintly laughing eyes trailing her, mocking her fear. 

She never asked Millie to help her again.

She stood beside him now, clean bandages in hand, uncertain what to do. He was asleep, thankfully, those sharp eyes sheathed behind shielding eyelids. In the silent moonlight, he looked almost peaceful, his breath even and slow. He stirred fitfully, whispering to himself.

"Rem..." A ghost of pain washed over his countenance, disturbing the calm that had settled there before.

He looked almost exactly like Vash.

She left the bandages behind, untouched. There was time enough to change them tomorrow. 

She did not look back as she returned to her bed, away from the both of them. She wanted to be alone.

*****************

"Don't you ever get tired of them?" Knives asked Vash idly one day, staring up at the ceiling. He had yet to move from the bed in which he had awoken. Lying lazily on his back, he could hear his brother moving around the room, picking up the pieces of the dish he had thrown earlier in a rage. His moods had become erratic since he first awakened, and only seemed to worsen as time passed. Oddly enough, Knives felt little distress at his own loss of control. In a way, it allowed him the only sort of power he could hold in this place.

His brother smiled at the question, patiently cleaning up the broken shards with his hands. "I don't see how I ever could," he said contemplatively. He drew back sharply as he cut himself on the jagged glass. Lifting his hand, he watched as the blood bloomed and faded upon his fingers, trailing a deep red streak across his palm as it fell to the floor.

"You always hurt yourself cleaning up my messes," Knives remarked. "I would have thought you'd have learned your lesson by now."

"I guess I'm just a slow learner," Vash replied, wiping the blood from his hand with a clean cloth, replacing it upon the tray before changing his mind, moving it away from the unused roll of bandages sitting nearby.

Knives pursed his lips, watching him discontentedly. "Ever the stubborn one. You always refuse to listen."

"I could say the same about you." Vash laughed softly then, shaking his head. "She's right, you know. We are more alike than we'd like to admit."

"She?" Knives echoed mockingly. "Oh, that one. That little girl you've replaced Rem with."

"She's not a replacement," Vash replied quietly.

"Oh, my mistake. A proxy, then. Or a cheap copy," Knives sneered. "You can't deny she looks remarkably like Rem. You don't expect me to believe that has nothing to do with it."

"She isn't Rem," Vash said, insistent. "They are two separate, entirely different people."

"I know that," Knives pointed out. "Quite well. Rem would never slap me upside the head for looking at her wrong." Unconsciously, his hand moved upward to rub his scalp protectively. "The question is, do you know that?"

Vash straightened defensively. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Don't you?" Knives pressed. "Don't you ever wonder why you stay with her? With both of them?" He rose slowly from the bed, propping himself into a half-sitting position. The pain that normally accompanied such actions had receded over the past days, fading to a dull aching throb. Almost languidly, he lifted an accusing finger towards his brother. "One with the innocence and love of a child, the other the spitting image of---"

"Shut up." Vash shut his eyes, his voice dropping low. "Stop saying that."

"Say what?" Knives twisted his mouth into a smirking leer. "Does it bother you, brother?"

"No!" Vash shook his head confusedly. "She has nothing to do with Rem." He stepped closer to his brother, as if somehow proximity could better convey his meaning. "She--- both of them--- they chose to stay with me. I didn't--- I didn't force them to follow me." He quieted again, and his eyes focused upon the floor pensively. "I'm grateful that they did," he whispered. "I think... I think I might have lost myself, otherwise." He shivered at a half-forgotten memory, one he had deeply buried in his mind.

"You always do this," Knives scowled. "Every time you start losing an argument you slip into that shell of sentimentality. As if that could protect you from the truth."

"It is the truth."

"Truth should induce belief, not the other way around." He smiled at Vash. "Which came first for you?"

*****************

After Vash left the room he closed his eyes, waiting for the next change of the guard. It would be that tall girl next, probably. Not the most intelligent of conversationalists. It was a pity, really, that he had to goad his brother so. He missed their talks of old, of not having to deal with the frustrating limitations of human intellect and frame of reference.

He missed talking to someone as if they were a person, instead of a thing.

_Well, you could solve that very quickly_, he could hear his brother say. _It's all in your attitude._ But he refused to capitulate in that way. Loneliness was no excuse for pathetic behavior. Speaking with them was akin to speaking to a highly trained pet; you might approximate the experience in short bursts, but very quickly you would realize how limited their understanding truly was.

He had no desire to hear his brother's words parroted back to him again. If he was to hear such drivel, he wanted it from the source. There was no point in arguing with a lackey.

A creak and a rush of air announced the door. He waited. Faintly, the scent of vanilla drifted past him.

Not _that woman_ then. The tall girl instead, as he expected. Of course.

He quashed down a moment of disappointment. He did not gain any satisfaction from that woman's presence. She was merely a toy to pass the time, nothing more. A predictable one at that, flying into a rage at the least provocation. He shouldn't even be deigning to talk to her.

But it was better than endless silence. Better than the slow atrophy of his mind and tongue.

Wasn't it?

"Knives-san, would you like to play a game?"

He opened his eyes and stared at her. He must have been hearing things.

"I beg your pardon?"

"A game." She held out a board and bucket invitingly. Small, colorful objects peeked out from the bucket in her hand, rattling lightly as she moved. She was smiling at him, damn it.

"You're joking, right?" He looked at her incredulously. _Freud was right_, he thought to himself, suddenly scrabbling with a forgotten memory of lessons with Rem. _All humans really do have a death wish._ In his mind, he was six again, sitting on soft artificial grass, his eyes and voice alight with excitement as he leaned towards his surrogate mother. She smiled at him, pleased that he had grasped the lesson so quickly. They had spoken often once, whenever Vash had grown bored and wandered off to play with his toys. He would listen to her, rapt, as she revealed the secrets of the universe--- his attention focused upon her hands, her mouth, her eyes. Her mind. 

_She was clever enough for you then,_ a voice in his mind whispered to him. _That was a long time ago,_ he told it firmly. _Rem could never comprehend who I am now._

_I suppose we'll never know,_ it replied, a wisp of regret threading his memory. He blotted it from his attention. There were more important things than sentiment to deal with now.

Or at least, there used to be. Now all he had were the ramblings of the cheerfully insane. It was enough to drive him mad.

He flicked his attention back to the tall girl, her game still stretched out towards him. He drew a breath, intending to tell her exactly what he thought of her offer. _Lonliness is no excuse for pathetic behavior,_ he chanted to himself._ Remember that._

*****************

Vash tilted his head to the crack in the doorway, drawn by the sound of voices. Laughter trickled out slowly, accompanied by edges of light. Curious, he peeked into the gap left by the half-open door.

"You're breaking my concentration." Surprisingly, he could only hear mild irritation in his brother's voice.

"I'm sorry, Knives-san." Millie's voice, punctuated by giggles, was like the light peal of piano keys turned staccato. "You just looked so serious. I've never seen anyone focus so hard on a game."

"Chess is not a game," he admonished her. "It is far older than you could ever imagine. It is strategy incarnate." His hand lifted a bishop, wavering over a square. Vash recognized the move and grinned. "It is a prelude to the art of war."

"I don't think you should put it there," Millie said uncertainly. "My ken could get you."

"It's called a _queen_." Knives grimaced. "Call it by its proper name. You people have bastardized the game quite enough over the eons as it is." He glared at the bright cherry red and blue spotting the board in front of him. "Is white and black too much to ask?"

Millie's answer was lost as Vash turned away with a smile. Perhaps, things were not as hopeless as it seemed.

  
  
  


It's been far too long since I've last worked on this. I need to rewatch Trigun again.

Apologies to anyone in linguistics; I realize the transformation queen-->ken may or may not make sense phonetically, but I have not been paying enough attention in my linguistics class to make this authentic. Feel free to give me suggestions if you think of any.

It's been two or three years since my last post, and I'm still not sure where this story will go. I think I've mellowed a lot since that time, and as a result, I suspect my rendition of Knives has done so accordingly. If this seems OOC to you, I apologize. Maybe I'll make him more mean and snarky in the next chapter (whenever that will be). I have missed writing fanfiction, though. Maybe now that I'm graduating, I'll have more time to work on it. We'll see.


End file.
